


At Home

by comixologist



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Extended Scene, Fluff, Hugs, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:06:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comixologist/pseuds/comixologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written to fill a prompt requesting a rewrite/extension of the hugging scene between Abe and Mihashi at the end of the Bijou match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=anon).



Mihashi was shaking, in spite of himself.

He'd been so afraid, when he'd seen Abe down on the pitch, so scared hauling him back to the dugout, so utterly, mind-searingly _terrified_ at the fierceness of Abe's grip on his wrist that something in his brain had switched on. He had been so determined to be _strong_ and _capable_ the way Abe believed he was, the way the team needed their Ace to be. He had worked so hard, and he'd been doing it because -- because the team needed him to, but even more than that, to show Abe he'd been right to believe in him. He'd wanted to win, for both of them. He'd wanted to make Abe proud of him so badly, and they... they...

"We lost," he choked out, without thinking, unable to meet Abe's eyes. Unable to tear his gaze off of that wrecked, swollen mass of bandages where Abe's knee was supposed to be. He hadn't wanted to tremble, but with Abe in front of him, watching him with those serious, down-turned eyes --

"Mihashi," Abe started, his voice thick with pain and sympathy -- no, _empathy_ \-- and some other emotion that Mihashi was too shaken to be able to identify in spite of how sensitive he was to Abe and what Abe might be feeling. He clutched at his jersey, strong hands in white-knuckled fists over his stomach. Mihashi felt like he was going to be sick. He was so...

So ashamed of himself. He couldn't speak around the lump in his throat and couldn't see clearly through the standing tears in his eyes but he _knew_ that Abe understood. The weight of Abe's gaze, it was enough and for that moment, in spite of all their trouble communicating and all their differences and all the things between them that still needed fixing, in that moment Mihashi could _just feel_ that he and Abe were completely, absolutely, perfectly in-sync with one another.

Abe tipped his head down, trying to look into Mihashi's eyes from underneath. Mihashi gave another choked little sob and squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head, before burying his face in Abe's shoulder. Abe understood, understood the shame (how could he have been so wreckless, how could he have broken their promise, how could he leave Mihashi _alone_ like that), and he wrapped his arm around Mihashi's shoulder, pressing his face into Mihashi's hair.

Mihashi could feel Abe's breath stirring his hair, knew he probably smelled like dust and sweat and disappointment, but in spite of the sobs that were trying to kick their way out of his chest, Mihashi clenched his teeth and forced his shoulders steady. He took Abe's weight, leaning into him to force Abe's balance, so that he could _support_ his catcher. Abe's breath hitched, and he made a soft, rough, grunt in the back of his throat. Mihashi knew the tremble in Abe's voice from that time, that amazing time behind the club-house at Mihoshi when they had finally _connected_. Mihashi wanted to hang onto that connection, and so his hands crept like spider-legged creatures from where they clutched at his belly towards Abe.

Abe let Mihashi hold him up, dividing his weight between his good leg and his pitcher, and struggled to control his breathing. Nobody watching thought anything of the way Nishiura's broken battery clung to one another on the field. Mihashi's fists had clenched in Abe's shirt, at his chest, keeping him close, and he whispered something that Abe knew without really hearing was "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

Mihashi's hands clutch-crawled their way from Abe's chest around, under his arms - slender hand slipping between the crutch and Abe's ribcage - arms wrapping around him tightly. Mihashi had needed to get closer, to be closer, to meld into his catcher so they could be one single shuddering body, feeling and thinking the same things and breathing the same air. Mihashi clutched at Abe's shoulder-blades, holding him steady even though his own knees were trembling. Abe whimpered and sighed and groaned all at once into Mihashi's hair, turning his head to the side and tipping his face down, his breath rushing heavy past Mihashi's ear.

"Abe, Mihashi!" Tajima called from the dugout, hauling a bag full of gear onto his shoulder, "It's time!"

"N-not yet," Mihashi said softly, where only Abe could hear him. "I don't -- don't wanna ---"  
"Don't," Abe breathed in a rush, pulling back just enough to touch his forehead to Mihashi's, as they finally met one another's eyes. "Don't let go yet," Abe blurted, his voice low and smooth but with a rasping edge of emotion -- sadness, need. Mihashi bit his lower lip, looking up through tear-heavy lashes into Abe's warm grey eyes.  
"I won't," he said, as he shifted his weight towards Abe's bad leg, somehow squirming into that impossibly tight space between Abe's side and the crutch, again, until he had one arm wrapped tightly around Abe's waist, the other clutching up Abe's jersey at the stomach. They looked at each other again, wobbling a little as Abe adjusted to the shift, leaning his weight on Mihashi instead of the aluminum crutch. They didn't either of them want that moment of connection and understanding and _unity_ to end yet, not yet, because as soon as they let go they both thought, or maybe knew, the spell would be broken they'd be back to misunderstandings and miscommunication and the _struggle_ to get back to this place where they were just _together_.

"Oi, Mihashi!" Tajima called again, the rest of the team already filing out of the grounds, still shaken and emotional from thanking the fans and processing their loss.

Abe started to snarl but Mihashi shook his head, forcing a wobbly, broken, tearstained smile as he called back, "W-we're coming!" and pulled Abe tight against his side so they could start the long walk out of the stadium.

Abe sighed, and let himself lean his weight on his pitcher - his frail, flaily, frustrating pitcher, who he never wanted to let down again, even for a moment. The strength in Mihashi's shoulders was tremulous, hiding underneath his timid posture and his fluttering breathing, but it was there, and Abe felt it. Abe felt it and he knew that it was that strength, hidden and indescribeable, that made him certain that Mihashi - their _ace_ \- was exactly what he wanted, what he needed, even though the understanding between them would be fleeting.

When they were finally on the bus, and the spell had been broken, and Abe's knee was throbbing with an aching insistance that made his jaw clench, Mihashi slipped his calloused fingers underneath Abe's palm. It was a tiny gesture, so small, so timid it could've been lost in the flurry of nervous movements that made up who Mihashi was. The warmth of those rough-skinned, trembling fingertips against the soft, smooth underside of Abe's hand, amazingly, made the ache in his leg just _that much less_ intolerable, and the bus' bumpy ride that much less uncomfortable.

The rest of the team didn't see it, the way Abe looked at Mihashi with his mouth slightly open and his expression just-this-side of confused. They didn't see the way Mihashi's cheeks, flushed from the game and his tears got just a half a shade darker. They didn't know that Abe had laced his fingers with his pitcher's, or stroked his thumb over Mihashi's knuckles. And for at least as long as they were touching, side-by-side and too shy to really look each other in the eye, they were still _together_ , breathing in unison, and feeling like they were each, with the other, at home.


End file.
